


Love and Blood

by Evilsnowswan



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire Slayer, Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold Smut, Buffy the Vampire Slayer References, F/M, Rumbelle Secret Santa, Rumbelle Secret Santa 2015, Slayer Belle, Souled Vampire(s), Vampire Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Vampire Sex, Vampire Slayer(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 18:31:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5466767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evilsnowswan/pseuds/Evilsnowswan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Into every generation a slayer is born: one girl [<em>Belle French</em>] in all the world [<em>Storybrooke, Maine</em>], a chosen one [<em>but not by choice</em>]. She alone will wield the strength and skill to fight the vampires, demons, and the forces of darkness [<em>if she so chooses</em>]; to stop the spread of their evil and the swell of their number [ <em> - o r    w i l l    s h e ? </em>]. She is the Slayer." </p>
<p><strong> Rumbelle Secret Santa (2015)</strong> gift for jackingbackpeeta on tumblr, who prompted [Slayer!Belle, Vampire!Rumple, smut].</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love and Blood

**Author's Note:**

> [ **A/N:** While some rules of the BTVS!verse do apply to this fic, it’s not a crossover/AU, and you do not need to know the show at all to read this. Oh, and since we’re dealing with vampires - there will be blood. Surprise, I know.]  
>  [Thanks to suchadearie for putting up with my jabbering and for letting me know this doesn’t suck as much as I thought it did.]

> _Winds in the east, mist coming in_  
>  Like something is brewing and about to begin.  
>  Can't put me finger on what lies in store,  
>  But I feel what's to happen all happened before.  
>    
>  _[[listen (♫)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zJIQTHiVoRM)]_  
> 

She walks down the alley when the vampire comes up to her, grabs her head, moving in to bite, and she keeps herself from rolling her eyes. _Oh please_.

Belle shoves an open palm into her assailant's chin, pushing him off of her, then punches him once in the gut and slams both fists into his head, knocking him off balance. “Really not in the mood for this tonight, sorry.” She draws the stake from her jacket and turns the creature to dust in a flash.

“Not bad,” he says, clapping lazily, and she almost jumps out of her skin. _Sneaky bastard_.

He’s balancing on the brick wall like an equilibrist: black coat, suit, tie and old-fashioned umbrella – and looking absolutely ridiculous. “A little slow, maybe, if I may say so.”

“Good evening to you, too.” she sighs, glancing up at him, as he dives into a low bow and tips his imaginary hat to her.

“But my apologies, where are my manners?”

_Have you checked up your arse_? Belle thinks, speeding up, but – as always – the guy can’t take a hint.

“We’re in a foul mood tonight,” he observes, amusement in his voice, and Belle wishes she had brought her crossbow with her. That would shut him right up. He knows she’s a good shot. She stops, glaring up at him, and puts her hands on her hips.

“What do you want, Gold?”

He jumps off the wall in front of her, brushing off his clothes, and offers her his arm. “Could I interest you in a lovely evening stroll?”

She laughs despite herself, linking arms, and he looks pleased.

She likes their little walks around town and enjoys engaging him in deep conversation on topics that her classmates have zero interest in discussing. He’s smart, and eloquent, and almost _normal_ when he gets so caught up in telling her about a building’s history, or about the planets and stars in the night sky, that he forgets to put on a show. The silly voices and mannerisms – that’s not really _him_.

“Where to, Miss?”

His eyes twinkle, and she can’t help the small smile that’s curving her lips. “Surprise me. Anything’s got to be better than the _party_ I just left,” she shakes her head as they start walking. “I might have lost a couple brain cells, may they rest in peace.”

He studies her face for a moment. “You’re most peculiar, Miss Belle.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” Belle asks, eyebrow arched at him.

“It is,” he says, patting her arm lightly. “If you’ll have it?”

She blushes, her eyes flickering to his lips for the briefest moment, and rests her head on his shoulder. If any of her friends saw them walking – saw her, arm in arm with an older guy, undead or alive - they’d grill her about it in the morning. She has wondered what she would tell them, if it ever came to it, whether she’d tell them the truth or not, whether they’d be scandalized if she did.

“May I suggest the art gallery tonight?” he asks, as they turn the corner onto Main Street. “They’re showing old manuscripts and letters, if you’d care to see them?”

“I’d like that,” she breathes against his shoulder, voice muffled and her breath white in the cool night air.

It smells like snow.

 

======

 

They come bursting through the door, and he bolts it quickly before finally setting her down on the damp floor, her head spinning and eyes watering from the icy airflow.

“What the hell was that?!” Belle jumps to her feet, glowering at him to hide her embarrassment and confusion. “Protecting your _friends_?” She folds her arms in an attempt to mask how dizzy she’s feeling. “Get out of my way!”

“Stay. Wait.” he says simply, but imploringly, blocking the door, and she wants to kick him.

“What if I say no?”

“I’ll move out of your way, but I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t get yourself killed.”

“Does it matter?” she huffs under her breath, jaw set, but then lifts her gaze to meet his. “Who are they?”

“Wrong question.”

“Fine, I’ll play,” she rolls her eyes at him. “ _What_ are they?”

“Stronger than you,” he says matter-of-factly. “Dangerous.”

Belle laughs a humorless laugh. _Well, duh. Everything out after-hours in this damn town’s dangerous_. “I don’t need you to protect me!” she snaps, pacing a few steps around the vault. The crazy redhead and her sister, he knows them, she’s sure of it, and she wants to know why he’d run, rather than confront them. He doesn’t like his kind any more than she does. _Usually_. Why avoid a good fight?

“I apologize,” he says. “It was never my intention to offend you.”

She blinks at him, opening her mouth and closing it again. He’s always so formal, always so polite, Belle thinks, and it’s infuriating. “Then tell me,” she pauses, striding back towards him. “Tell me their names.”

He grimaces. “They don’t share my values -” he says evasively. “It’s a question of -- _will power_ , and most immortals simply don’t have it.”

“Names,” she prompts again. “Or is this one of those _speak-my-name-and-summon-me_ kind of situations?”

He hesitates. “I don’t want to put you in danger.”

Belle scowls in response, resisting the urge to push him out of her way and storm outside. “I’m always in danger,” she says tiredly, rubbing her cold arms. “And I can very well handle it, you know!”

“Maybe I can’t.” He’s looking at her with those big sad eyes, the warmth in them making her worry her bottom lip, and she exhales a long, frustrated breath. “Look –“ he tries again, shakes his head. “You don’t know _what_ – what they’ll _do_ to you!” He’s reaching for her shoulders, but she steps back, steadying herself against a pillar and shudders, as her back connects with the stone. She’s not much bothered by low temperatures usually, but they left her jacket at the gallery - and her little, flimsy party dress isn’t made for the draughty dwelling places of the dead and undead. 

“Please, Miss Belle, had they seen us tonight -” he trails off, wringing his hands. “I couldn’t risk it.”

She flashes at him. “Oh, is this where you tell me that _this_ ,” her agitated hand gestures between them. “Can’t work and that you’re tired of me already, and are going to kill me after all?” she asks, her voice taking on an almost hysterical edge.

“You’re upset,” he remarks, searching her face. “You think I’m lying to you.”

_You think?_  She lets out a gusty breath, resting against the pillar, the aged stone absorbing her warmth, sucking her cold, draining her until they have become one. “Aren’t you?” She looks at him evenly.

He is in front of her in a beat. Her heart rate doesn’t even pick up at his unnatural quickness anymore, and Belle wonders if it should, if this is what will – ultimately - get her killed. Maybe she wouldn’t mind.

“I only ever spoke the truth.” His hand cups her face almost gently.

“I’m going to kill _you_ , someday,” Belle says, her voice dead and her gaze level with his, thinking about everything he _hasn’t_ said out loud, everything he’s holding back, everything he’s hiding from her. He merely smiles at her. “You don’t believe me.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt you will _try_.” He runs his thumb across her cheek and she swallows, hard. “And it should make for an interesting distraction when you do - stave off the boredom for a while. _Forever_ isn’t quite what it’s cracked up to be.”

Before she can ask him what he means by that, he leans in for a kiss, parting her numbed lips with his, and she hums into his mouth, tremors running through her body, kick starting her sluggish heart.

They are playing with fire, and she can taste blood, and it’s not her own. Belle shivers, wondering if vampires sometimes bite the insides of their cheeks by accident too, or if maybe he has dragged his teeth across his tongue on purpose, slicing it open and making it bleed – only a little bit.

One hand is holding her head and the other grabbing her at the waist, yanking her tingling body against his, as he deepens the kiss. The blood, it’s thick and sweet and pleasantly warm in her mouth, but different somehow, as if spiced subtly, and she tries to remember if Grasshopper ever mentioned anything to her about what would happen if a human swallowed vampire blood. Chances are the answer is _nothing_ , because turning her would require him to drain _her_ blood.

“You’re gross –“ Belle can _feel_ him smirk, and her hands move from around his neck, grabbing the lapels of his overcoat, and she pushes him back against the door with a hard thud, breaking the kiss momentarily, only to cover his stupid mouth with hers again. She doesn’t have to be careful with him, doesn’t have to _think_ , and she likes that - likes his strength, and likes the rush, her senses so much more _awake_ when she’s with him.

His hand slides down her body to trace the curve of her back, making her tremble, and her head falls backwards, brain shutting off, her body firing to life, as he breaks their kiss for good, his mouth moving down her chin, her throat, leaving little fiery kisses along its path.

Belle wonders if he can hear her thoughts. Her instincts are screaming at her to fight him off – _bloodsucker at her throat!_  – adrenaline coursing through her veins, but she leans into his touch regardless, reckless, closing her eyes, her alarmed heart beating frantically, trapped inside her constricting chest. She’s pressing herself harder against him, moaning softly and arching her back, willing him to take whatever he wishes - even if that might very well be her life.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs against her skin, covering it in kisses that have become greedy, ravenous – teasing her, tasting her, marking her as his, and her blood rushes through her body like liquid fire, searing through her limbs and into her groin, pooling and pulsing rhythmically at her center.

Pulling her closer, he slides one arm down her back to cup her bottom, grinding her against his growing erection. She squirms until he can feel the heat pouring off of her through the thin layers of their clothing.

Belle kisses him hungrily, her warm hands sliding through his hair, down his neck, beneath his coat. She pushes it off his shoulders and it falls to the floor. Kissing him still, licking and nipping, she goes for his tie, wraps it around her hand and pulls. He groans into her mouth, his fingers clutching at her hips, as she presses her breasts against his chest and her hips to his. His eyes are darker than she has ever seen them, a starless night sky mid-winter, and she’s on fire, greedy, insatiable, her hands gripping his shoulders as she keeps grinding against him.

Gasping for air, she pulls away from the kiss to unknot his tie, and she pulls it out of his collar in a swift motion, flinging it blindly behind her with a sly smile.

He dips his head to skim his mouth along her neck again at that, his hands sliding up her arms, down her back, over her perfect curves, to stop on her firm behind and squeeze it. Her skin is flushed with need, and he can taste her arousal, as her pulse beats rapidly beneath his mouth. With a moan of lust, he pulls her tangled hair from her neck and runs his rough tongue along her carotid artery, delighting in the shivers that tremble through her delicate frame. "Scared, Slayer?" he rasps.

Driving all thought from her mind, she tugs at his silky shirt, finally freeing it from his pants. His mouth slides across her cheek, then back down her throat, and, just for a moment, a pang of fear intrudes, but he passes on down to her chest, and she clutches at his shoulders, arching her head back and holding him to her. "No."

Her breath hitches and she lets out the tiniest whimper, pushing his head away, but her nimble fingers start unbuttoning his shirt almost immediately. She spreads it wide, caressing his chest, kissing down _his_ neck, taking what she wants, and he lets her, leaning his head back against the door and closing his eyes. Her warm mouth and eager hands glide over his skin, and he savors every wild sensation.

His eyes shoot back open and he sucks in a sharp ( _and entirely unnecessary_ ) breath, as she bites his nipple, the jolt shooting straight to his groin. Still feathering kisses over his chest, she brushes her hand against his pants and he groans, his fingers digging into her waist, as she’s pressing her palm against him, slowly rubbing his hard length. Instinctively, his hips move with her rhythm, grinding against her small hand.

She’s watching his face, increasing the pressure, and their eyes lock. “ _That_. I want that.” she licks her lips and he captures them again, crushing her mouth to his.

They are kissing desperately, clinging to each other, hands roaming, mouths clashing. With a low growl, he’s at her neck once more, willing himself to stay in control, and seeking that sweet spot that has made her quiver before. He knows he found it when she lets out a low moan, her head falling back to give him better access. With another, softer growl, his hands cup her small breasts, and her frantic fingers plow through his hair, her body undulating against his.

Quick as a flash, he takes her by the waist, spins them both around, and pushes her up against the door, her back to his chest. To his surprise and immense pleasure, she moans lustfully, causing the blood of his last meal to rush through him, sending his senses spinning. With one hand, he grasps her skinny wrists and holds them up over her head, pinning them to the cold steel. With his other hand, he reaches down in front to sweep it between her legs, trailing up her thigh, making her wriggle and whimper and grind her rear against him. His knees nearly buckle, watching her catch fire that way, and he wants nothing more than to watch her go up in flames. 

He sweeps her mahogany mane aside, flicking her ear with his tongue, listening to her ragged breathing, and with teasing slowness, pulls down the zipper on her dress. Then he moves in, kissing and nibbling her smooth, pale back, pushing the dress aside with both hands, opening the clasp of her strapless lace bra with precision. His hands travel around to her perky breasts, squeezing and kneading, and he scrapes his fangs across her soft shoulder, and down her shoulder blade and back, covering everything in angry red lines, and they both moan.

Belle rocks back against him and, with a low grunt, he whips her around to face him, her dress dropping and pooling at her ankles. She holds his gaze, skin ablaze, but erupting in gooseflesh, and steps out of her dress, kicking it aside.

“Beautiful,” he repeats in husky reverence, his hands caressing her, his rough leathery skin stroking her already pebbled nipples, and she sighs softly. “Absolutely gorgeous --- so gorgeous.” He dashes kisses and licks across her trembling breasts, before closing over a rose-colored nipple with his teeth.

Belle cries out, grabbing his head and guiding his tongue across her nipple, as spasms of lust roll through her. She can feel the tension rise within her, and her other hand fumbles with the fastenings of his buckle and pants, wanting him to touch her, wanting him inside her, to fill that aching, empty space. She tangles her fingers in his hair, fisting it, and arches her back, as he suckles on her breast, then on the other, while his hands worship her body, greedily explore her curves, touching her everywhere.

Her breath’s coming in short, hard puffs now, her lips parted, head thrown back with abandon. Her strong, pale body looks magnificent in the dim light, _she_ looks magnificent. So _bloody_ beautiful. And he can’t help, but tell her again.

“Then take me already,” she pants, her eyes glazing over with passion. “ _A little -- slow, if I may say so_.”

The animal pulsing right under his skin, he grips her face with his hands, crushing his mouth to hers to stifle the deep feral growl escaping him. The air around them seems to be crackling with electricity and her lips are high voltage, as she’s finally done with his belt buckle and is unzipping his pants. She jerks them down over his hips, together with his boxer briefs, then lifts a foot, the shadow of a graceful dancer in her movements, to push them down.

“Flexible.” He grins, their mouths sealed tight, kisses hot and demanding, and for the first time _he_ ’s pressing against her, and she’s moaning into his mouth, the only thing left between them her damp lace panties, which he makes short work of, ripping them off her, his patience running thin. All she’s wearing now are her strappy, black stilettos.

She reaches down between them and curls her hand around his erection, a jagged moan ripped from his throat at her touch. “Now –“ her voice is a low, sultry purr of approval that sends a deep shiver through him. As he meets her eyes, her thumb’s running over the head, smoothing out the moisture there, before she brings it to her mouth and sucks on the pad, hollowing her cheeks, and nearly driving him over the edge right then and there.

She resumes the stroking in a torturously slow rhythm, studying his face closely, and he keeps caressing her breasts, as her slender fingers are lavishing lazy strokes up and down his length. This has to be the most erotic thing he’s ever experienced – dead or alive – the unabashed desire in her eyes, as she’s watching him succumb to her, gauging what her touch is doing to him. Panting hard, rocking into her hand, he cups one hand around the back of her neck, drawing her in for another feverish kiss, delirious with pleasure. Her hand moves faster, picking up the pace, both of them grabbing at each other, taking what they want, whatever they need, tension rising in waves.

His head falls back, another groan escaping him. “Wait –“

“No.” She smirks, nipping at his neck, but he moves her hand away, sliding his between her legs instead.

“Your turn.” He runs his fingertips up her thigh, listening to her little moans. Patience and self-control, so very foreign to his kind - but he wants to torment her with pleasure, wants her to go boneless with her building need for him, wants to hear her sigh and scream for him again, wants to watch her come undone in his arms. “Tell me you want this,” he breathes hot against her lips.

“God, I want this,” she pants, her face flushing. “I want _you_ , you moron!” 

He is kissing her again, growling low and deep, the rumble sinking into her skin, vibrating through her bones, and shooting straight to her core. He’s pulling back, smiling slightly, just enough to look into her eyes, as he strokes along her wet folds, brushing his thumb lightly across her clit, and she rewards him with a deep guttural moan. 

“I want you, too.” He sighs happily, and slides two fingers into the wet heat between her legs. She cries out, and her whole body shudders - so marvelously reactive to his touch - her passion and desire fanning the flames of his own.  He rubs her clit in lazy circles, his fingers moving inside her and curling mercilessly, and her sounds - wonderful staccato gasps and sweet moans - are driving him mad. Such dangerous siren calls, calling out to the beast within, beckoning it to come out and play. She grasps his cock again, stroking in a rhythm that’s matching his, and his nostrils flare, his forehead dropping to hers, as his body’s responding to her clever, wicked fingers. He’s breathing heavily against her mouth, sensations threatening to overtake and submerge him. “Now,” he snarls. She’s so warm, so slick, her blood singing in his ears. “-- Have you _now_.”  

She laughs breathlessly, and he swallows the sound with another ravenous kiss, fingers slipping out, and hands grasping her breasts almost violently. Then he hitches her leg up, easily, with one hand, grips her hip with the other, not caring if he’s leaving bruises, and plunges into her, slamming her back into the freezing cold steel.

With a sharp cry, Belle’s nails dig into his shoulders, and she grinds against him, riding him hard and fast. He’s meeting each thrust with unrelenting force, powerful, his fingers bruising her hips, her spine too soft against the unyielding door, as he’s filling her up to her very core, burning through her, leaving only ashes in his wake.

Belle swallows hard and lets herself revel in the physical sensations of fucking. The position drives his cock to places she's never been touched, and she can feel her inner muscles clenching and retracting, caressing his shaft. As his thrusts increase in speed again, his fingers pinch her nipples harder and harder, and she finds herself torn between pleasure and pain, moaning helplessly.

“Gold –“ her head falls back against the door, as he thrusts into her, harder, again, and her sweaty hands slide, nails leaving trails, reddish marks that go unnoticed, and she bites her lip, moans, and explodes, shattering into smithereens, incandescent galaxies bursting behind her closed eyelids.

She’s biting her lip, pink tongue licking red, grabbing at him everywhere she can, and he feels the last threads of his self-control fray and split apart. He wants to possess her like no other man has, for he isn’t one. He’s a dead star, a shriveled stellar corpse, pulling her in, sucking her dry, ripping her apart and turning her into dust. Feeling his balls tighten and his lust turn his thoughts to mush, he slams into her harder, his fingers tightening on her breasts. Her cunt clenches around him, tighter and tighter, until he growls and comes with a final deep thrust, spurting his cold seed into her charred channel.

As she climaxes with a soft cry, she lifts her head, arching her neck, and he buries his face into its curve, biting down gently, then not so gently, sinking his fangs deep into her tender flesh. Watching her come, the beast rears its ugly head and bites on to her possessively, its own orgasm hitting hard, and it fills her body with its dead seed, listening to her little whimpers of pleasure, drinking from her gently, her humming blood like syrup, such sweet wretchedness.

Eyes widening in shock and fear, Belle gives a silent scream, the sound stuck in her throat, and another orgasm crests through her, driving her wild with pain. His cock swells again and he thrusts hard, pounding her against the door, sensuously draining her blood, and she grunts with each thrust, her breasts rubbing raw against his hard palms, her body scorching hot, as the pain in her throat stimulates the pleasure between her legs, and wrenches another inevitable climax from her. Her mind spiraling, she collapses against him, swaying in his arms.

The pain sears through every fiber of her body, and she wants to pull back, wants to fight, her tired muscles screaming in protest, his embrace, however, is like iron, and she can’t move, can’t breathe, can’t scream. Her own whimpers sound like explosions in her ears, but she can’t contain them any longer. The pain she has been living with has finally become too much – and she’s frozen, dizzy, too scared to move, because any movement will send another white lash of pain jolting through her, and she’s afraid that any more will drive her out of her mind for good. Every nerve in her body is raw and on fire, and the scent of blood is nauseating.

She opens her eyes and looks at him, heart stuttering in her chest. His eyes are looking back, but where there used to be love and need and some strange sorrow hidden beneath warm amber, there’s only unseeing blackness now. Silently, she pleads for him to stop, or to end her pain – asking for everything to be well and truly over, weights lifted from both their shoulders - but he is seeing her no more, his features distorted, a callous smile on his crimson lips.

She would be wondering about hell, the netherworld, maybe, if she hadn’t already been there and done that, living on it, breathing on it, fighting it - until now.

He lets up, finally, and with the very last beat of her heart, she crushes her mouth to his. The kiss is carnal -- voracious and angry. She bruises his lips, forcing them open for her tongue. As her teeth cut into the tender inside of his lip, his blood – or is it hers? _Theirs_? – flows freely across her tongue and down her stinging throat, and she swallows back her nausea and the strange clashing mingling spices, tracing the little wound’s edges with the tip of her tongue, feeling it seal up, marveling at how fast it’s healing, somewhere, in the back of her mind, far, far away.

 

======

 

“Miss Belle –“

Face white as snow, limbs lifeless, her body is shaking, bones rattling within their drained shell, and she's as cold as ice, as he scoops her up into his arms, cradling her head and wrapping her in his shirt. Sitting on the filthy floor, leaning back against the door, he rocks her gently, her head on his bare chest. She's already too weak to lift her hand to his shoulder, and he clutches her to him tightly, trying to warm her, trying to hold on to her, pressing small, desperate kisses to the crown of her head.

Maybe it would be a mercy to finish what he has started, to suck the last of her light out of her decaying flesh, but he’s weak, and he’s selfish, and he’s not ready to let her go.

As he holds her, images flit through his mind, momentary flashes of small detail, scattered broken shards. The first time he’s seen her in the library, the exasperation he felt in those first months, followed by the agony and bliss of their first stolen kiss. Faces - her watcher, and her friends, her father and her mother. A sad rose on fresh earth on her seventeenth birthday. His betrayal. Her forgiveness. Kissing her eyes and palms, laughter like little bells, as he spins her around, dancing. Their first night together, wonderfully bittersweet, her soft skin made from nebulae, undiscovered constellations in her eyes.

Closing his burning eyes, he pictures her as she was that night, naked, her eyes wide and glazed with passion, her body covered in a fine sheen of sweat, her breasts small yet firm, not a single scratch on her, as she reached her orgasm and sobbed his name.

He kicks in the door and it swings the wrong way, its hinges breaking, sending a chilly gust of wind through the dusty confines. One torch gutters, then a second, as powdery fresh snow drifts across the floor. Bleary eyed, he looks out into the bright night, so dazzlingly white, so pure and peaceful, and he wants to scream and curse at the Gods, but none of it will make any difference. There is no way out and not enough time. His tainted blood – deadly poison in her veins, and he knows she cannot fight it much longer.

There is a smudge of smoke over the black and white trees. Crackling wood in fireplaces. _Town_. If anything, he will have to hurry, before the cold kills her or the _other wolves_ come. Together with more bright red blood on the virgin snow, his tears start falling, fogging his vision, and he feels her tears wetting his grotesquely warm skin. She doesn't make a sound, and he prays she's not in pain, as he carries her through the swirling snow, whispering sweet lies into her ear, promising her love and life with every step, as the moisture seeps up through his pants.

Once the darkness engulfed her entire being, apathy would eat her up and spit out the empty shell of the person she’s been, for the demon to claim as his and feast on. And claim her, he will, leaving her changed forever, a new found taste for human blood and cruelty taking up residence in her rotten heart. She will never know her new face, and maybe that’s a small mercy, for death will only ever distort and defile the radiant beauty that she’s been in life.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! ~~I kind of want to write a Vampire!Lacey sequel now.~~


End file.
